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Elin Roberts Sep 2018
I am a lighthouse standing strong
Against a stormy sea
Beat me down with the violent rain
But I'll never stop being me

A lonely sailor I may be
Stoic in silent solitude
Watching all that is to be, all that is to come
Freedom seems a fleeting scene and reality is seemingly numb

But yet I stay in this place
Resolute is a lonely silence
Watch the clouds, and read the sky
Feel the rain yet remain bone dry
Forever searching for a reason why

Why a lonely lighthouse such as me
Shines so bright when it wishes to be
So easily abled to turn off the light
And embrace the fade of a dark winters night
Stella Jul 2018
The wise woman bends a broken knee
Her ewer goes deep into the clear river
A shiver
From the cold fingertips to the snow of her hair
All tangled with voices and
  swallowed bits of oceans and
   muffled out cracks and
    internal bruising and
     the light that they give off
      the dreadlocks she will never part with.

She approaches the crowd that watches
Someone bathe in the cold waters.
She fills which cups are still upright
Nods at a ‘thank you’ or two
And wipes a tired eye
  as she fills her own with wine.
   Water’s to drink
     And youth is to behold.
Whose breath is this that commeth from below?
On what wretched wind does this rankness flow?

From under is where this monster lives, and under is where he grows
The dark man seeks no light from thee and hunger is all he knows
Patiently, he's poised to be, for chance that will allow 
Wait and see, mistakenly, his stance in place of thou

Sickly is thy nature, equipped with broken spirit 
Quickly he maneuvers, listen and you'll hear it
Panting, he takes footing, clawing at thy skin
Recanting past transgressions, thou pays for all his sins

To the forefront of thy being, the man from under claims
For the forfeit of existence, he swallows what remains 
Sinking to his stomach, thou has lost the chance to be 
Drinking from his spirit, he shall teach thee how to breathe

And with this lesson learned, when thee is settled down:
Bitter is the taste of freedom, ghastly is its sound
Trapped by thy own persons, a bond that cannot sunder
For thee is now the one, who scratches from down under

Whose breath is this from under; the question to be asked
Carried on the wretched winds, it smells of thy own past
Dolly Balou Dec 2017
The moon is full tonight.
I can feel it's pull.

The cat stares at me.
Her eyes seem to suggest she knows what is on my mind.

As I gaze up into the mysterious sky,
The familiar taste of salt trickles into the corners of my lips.

I can feel a tug of my emotions,
Like the moon somehow has a role in the pull of my interstitial fluid.

It is basically sea water,

The black cat loiters a certain superstition within.
Fear becomes instilled as she stares into my soul with her all knowing glare.

"Blame it on the moon, blame it on the moon.
Tides come and go, so this shall too"

I strive to find the comfort this world has to offer me
Some say it comes from within, this I am not sure of.

The thoughts linger. The cat knows, I know she knows.
What does she make of me in this incapacitated state?

I taste the salt. It is drawn out by the moon.
That is what I tell myself.

Deep down I know the salt is due to the overwhelming grief I try to deny.

And the cat is merely the internalized self stigma eating away at my self esteem and efficacy.
Share your views/interpretation of these words. Am trying to find ways to communicate and would love to know if there are people who understand this.
T McGilberry Nov 2017
The coolest get cooler by the second,
The hot will make your heart melt.

The poetry is deeper when it's heartfelt..

The angry send a vibe to make the earth shake,
The depressed make you pity..

The sad will make you wonder why?

How do these different people bloom in the city?

Smalltowner’s with ambition no one believes in,
The humble great waiting for his door to open..
With no confidence to kick it in and play his token.

This game was made for all of us to play and win,
At some point..

Too many knowers and thinkers,
But no one begins.
Life is life. **** your masterplan. Enjoy the journey. If you're reading this it's not too late.
Paul Jones May 2017
Still with stoic calm,       you keep the balance,
as moods move through you     like waves through water.
10:30 - 05/05/17
State of mind: quizzical, nostalgia, calm

Thoughts: from thinking - about what I've read from Epicurus combined with ideas of a wave passing through something which temporarily alters or moves it, returning to its original state once the wave has passed.

Questions: Does not life behave like a wave, in this sense?
Crimsyy May 2017
Her body perfectly blends in
with the night,
merely a silhouette,
her beauty accentuated
by the lack of light.
And though I have tried,
the earth has crawled
into her tiny bones,
the dirt has gotten
inside her fingernails,
and they have pinned
all their compliments onto her,
but I know when I'm gone,
she won't bleed with me.
Oh how can no one see
she'll no longer be a part of me,
how can anyone expect me
to be nostalgic
when I can't even feel
the sting of her golden days
where I bathed in the sun's rays.
I have suffocated her
and peaceful nights are now
but a blur,
and that is how you want me;
*on fire, stoic, dangerous.
Vexren4000 Jan 2017
The Moon,
It gracefully sits.
Stoic in its positioning.
Waiting for a lover that may never come,
and waiting for a night that may not seem like one.
Then I wonder if, I am alone like the moon.

Vexren4000 Jan 2017
In this room, I sit.
I sit alone as if,
Not  human exists
or a soul to be seen.
I know I am wrong,
yet it feels so right.
Even if it burns,
I feel as if feeling that way.
There is no other way to feel.
The bitter chilling winds of love, life and old age.
Slowly erode my sanity,
Yet this sanity stands stoically.
Against the tides of time and maelstrom of life.
Now it is a faceless statue.
That stands alone,
With no indicator of who or what had made it.
This is a fate,
that one must accept.
No matter when,
or where.

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